Smuggler's Lair by Virginia Henley Page A

mere mortals tonight, my love, and kept my enemies well occupied.”
    She gave him a seductive glance. “I serve at the pleasure of His Majesty the King.”

C HAPTER 8
    â€œHow would you like to go for a sail aboard the Seacock ?”
    â€œFalcon, I’d love it above all things!” Tory then had second thoughts. What if he’s going roving? She had just removed the stitches from his cheek and applied tormentil.
    He placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. “Banish that look of anxiety, sweetheart; we sail for pleasure, not business, and sea air helps to heal wounds.”
    Tory smiled. “Where will we go?”
    â€œThe Strait of Dover is most pleasant for sailing, providing we go before the autumn gales start to blow.”
    â€œIt sounds wonderful! When shall we leave?”
    One of the things he found so exciting about her was how ready and eager she was for adventure on a moment’s notice. “Tomorrow, if you can be packed and ready. You’ll need warm garments, no diaphanous gowns. It can be brisk on the sunniest days. I’ll lend you one of my wool cloaks to wrap up in.”
    Tory opened his wardrobe. “May I have this dark blue one? I’d better shorten it and take up the hem or I’ll be tripping and falling overboard.”
    â€œI would dive in and rescue you, my love. You must know I couldn’t live without you.”
    Victoria sighed. “I love you, Falcon Hawkhurst.”
    * * *
    The following day, Tory stood at the rail of the Seacock as it glided down the River Rother toward the coast. She was filled with excitement as the breeze ruffled her hair and she breathed in the salt tang of the sea air as if it were the elixir of life.
    When the ship reached the sea and moved into the strait, Falcon beckoned her to come up to the forecastle, where he stood at the Seacock’s wheel. “Look back, Tory. Those are the chalk cliffs of Dover that give the strait its name.”
    â€œI’ve been atop the cliffs, looking out to sea, but I’ve never seen them from this vista. They are quite breathtaking.”
    â€œIt’s comforting to know they still stand sentinel a hundred years hence.” He grinned. “Do you suffer from mal de mer?”
    â€œI’m not sure. I’ve never sailed before.”
    â€œIf you start to feel queasy, I have ginger wine in my cabin.”
    Tory let her head fall back so she could watch the sailors in the rigging as they unfurled the sails. Her hair flew about in wild disarray. Terns and gulls screamed and dipped around the tall mast and the sound of the ship’s bow cutting through the waves set up a rhythm she could feel in her blood.
    Falcon turned the wheel over to his first mate and took Tory on a walk around the deck. “You have to get your sea legs. It’s a matter of balance; match your gait to the ship’s roll.” They laughed together. “You stagger like a drunken sailor.”
    They enjoyed a lunch of prawns and curried rice and, to be on the safe side, Tory tried the ginger wine. “I like spicy things.”
    Falcon stole a kiss and rolled his eyes. “Me, too.”
    In the afternoon, they went back up to the forecastle and Falcon took over the ship’s wheel. “How would you like to sail the Seacock ?”
    â€œWill you show me how?” Excitement glittered in her eyes.
    â€œSuch a willing pupil!” he teased. “Come, take the wheel.” His strong brown hands covered hers. “To keep a ship on a steady course is not difficult once you learn the secret. You must feel the wind on the back of your head. Never let it come past your right or left cheek.”
    Tory did as he instructed and glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Is that all?” she asked in disbelief.
    He whispered in her ear, “As simple as making love, once someone has taught you its secrets.”
    She felt his hard body brush against her